


continuous and differentiable

by willowcabins



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Community: hc_bingo, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcabins/pseuds/willowcabins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw is an operative for the Government, tasked to find Root, a murderous and escaped android. Things get complicated quickly, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I, Scene I

**Author's Note:**

> the square root function is not defined along the entire complex plane; rather, in its simplest form it can be continuous and differentiable only along the "cut" plane defined as C\\{-infinity, 0} (a definition supplied by my roommate, an Honors Math and Physics student)  
> h/c bingo, prompt: shipwrecked

The Machine.

There are rumours about it.

Shaw has heard it whispered that there is a whole planet out in the universe on which every surface is covered with servers for this machine. It takes in every word whispered into the night sky and inhales it; information beyond information, and She takes it and uses it. That's when the myths vary; some tell Shaw that the Government made it and the Government controls it. Others say that it was never controlled; "a machine that knows human _is_ human," skeptical old women would whisper to each other as they traded oranges and cotton at trading posts.

"No, no, no, you have it all wrong," a third woman assures the first two. "The Government borrowed the machine!" but from whom, no one knows. Whoever it is, whoever it was, Shaw has never wondered. The wondering and dreaming and the spinning and the threading is for Cole. Shaw just shoots.

"We have a new mission," Cole tells her as she re-enters their spaceship. She slips her gun back into the cupboard with all of her guns and closes it with a loud thump.

"Great. Where are we going?"

"Back."

"They didn't send you the assignment?"

"This one is Top Secret."

"And not transmissible over the radio?"

"Apparently." She is annoyed, but Cole just seems bright and curious, so she sighs and slips into the co-pilot seat next to him. She checks to see if her survival bag is correctly stored under the seat. She buckles her seatbelt and reviews every button. "Satisfied?" Cole asks, watching Shaw's pre-flight ritual. She looks up.

"Now I am," she replies and Cole starts the engine carefully. They lift off the helipad and zoom away; Shaw never really liked Amhyrst anyway. A city in the clouds just seemed to ask for trouble, not matter how many people tried to give her a scientific explanation as to how millions of people managed to float in the sky.

"I don't really trust their science," she had muttered and Cole had shrugged.

"I don't think you trust anything you can't lay your hands on," he joked. "and even then, you usually like to strangle it first."

"Violence reminds people of the consequences of lies."

"And rhetoric can prompt them to tell the truth in the first place."

"Next time Control wants us to interrogate someone, rest assured I will let you have first stab at them. That is, of course, if you will ever leave this spaceship."

"I find I am much better use in here with the computers and the radio waves -"

"And all the food," Shaw adds, holding up the empty bag of chips that Cole had tried to stuff into the cup holder.

"Sorry about that Shaw," he says, head ducking as he shoots her a guilty smile. She just glares at him.

"I was looking forward to those chips," she mutters, annoyed.

"I'll make it up to you," he assures her. He shots her a flirty look, but she didn't notice because she has already turned towards the window.

She likes watching atmosphere's pass by their ship. The hull's sparking and glittering, reminding her that they are so fast that even inflammable material threatens to spark. That has a special edge of power to it that Shaw relishes. They leave the cloudy atmosphere of the Cloud Planet. That isn’t its official name, but people claim Cloud Planet or Cloudy had a better ring to it than Darkil an Abuleila - KZT 345. Shaw sees their point. Keeping all the planetary numbers straight can sometimes genuinely be problematic.

Now they are out of the atmosphere, the darkness of an unknowable infinity settling around them. Shaw stares out into the distance as Cole engaged the autopilot.

"Destination: Government Headquarters, Section: Control Passcode: CE34JG9." The autopilot hums for a second, and then engages.

"Estimated time of arrival: Nine hours," the autopilot says, melodic edge to the electroinic voice. Shaw pulled up her legs in her chair and sighed out contentedly.

"I'm going to sleep," she says out loud, to both her partner and the AI now steering the ship. "Alert me if anything comes up on the proximity meter."

"Imma grab some shuteye too. All that eating wore me out," Cole jokes, trying to make his partner laugh. But Shaw is already asleep. Cole sighs and stretches in his chair, engaging the leaning back function and letting the darkness of space fool his internal clock. He will make her smirk, one day, he promises himself.

 

There are rumours about a woman with deadly eyes who smiles with her teeth. Government shut down the rumours. Talking about A Woman is illegal, a transmission declares.

Somewhere, a woman bites into an apple and giggles.

 

Space is large. Sometimes Shaw forgets that, but today she watches the stars hum by. The spaceship hisses comfortably below her and she just listens as behind her Cole breathes out. She sees her reflection in the window and sighs.

Space is large and this journey is a waste of time. Shaw rolls over in her seat and pulls out one of the ration bags from the compartment under her chair. “Chicken,” the silver aluminum boats, but Shaw makes a face. A million years and packaged rations are still not obsolete. She frowns at the list of unreadable ingredients on the back and breaks it in half, like a glow stick, to warm the mixture in its bag.

She eats straight from the aluminum pocket, spooning the brown mess into her mouth, her face reading her annoyed disgust; a tasteless paste does not pass for food. She hates this. But Control called, and there was no time to eat on Amhyrst.

Not that Shaw trusts food that can float in space anyway…

 

"Agents Shaw and Cole." They have landed, their ship is catalogued and now a stern man watches them as they get off it. Shaw nods at him. Cole, slightly behind her, follows suit.

"Wilson," Shaw returns the greeting. "What was so urgent you had to meet us personally?"

"Transmissions have been compromised," he explains before he turns around and shoots the video camera in the top right hand corner. "Your new assignment has access to everything."

"What?!" Cole shifts out from behind Shaw, amazed.  Wilson gives him a scathing look and Shaw considers stepping in front of her partner to protect him again. She doesn't, though, and Wilson answers him.

"Your new assignment has infiltrated everything."

"Who is it?"

"All we have is a name."

"No number?"

"Just a name," Wilson repeats in confirmation.

"What is it?" Shaw asks.

"Root."

"Only a name?" Cole looks troubled. "What am I meant to do that?"

"All the things you usually do," Wilson explains tersely. Cole's brow furrows.

"I usually have a number though..."

"She's an android. She was not given a number."

"Not a Number," Cole agrees, "but she must have a Serial Number!"

"Only if she was factory produced. And she was not. Now please, stop expecting me to do your job. Find the robot."

"Do you know a gender?" Shaw asks, trying to help her troubled partner.

"We only know a name." And with that, Wilson leaves. Shaw shrugs and turns around to get back on the ship. Cole stops her, hand on her arm.

"Let's enjoy one day at home." Although it’s phrased like a suggestion, Cole makes it sound like a question. Shaw’s face darkens, so Cole rushes to explain. "I want to eat real food and sleep in a bed, Shaw."

"We don't have time for that, Cole," Shaw replies briskly. Why would he even ask such a thing?

"I have questions for some of the other Seekers," he adds quietly, in a hushed whisper. Shaw sighs.

"Fine, you get three hours here." He nods vigorously. "But no sleeping," Shaw warns him. Cole nods again and scampers away towards the library and the Seeker's offices. Shaw walks the other direction, getting out of the network of tunnels of the Government division and entering the planet's core.

Government wasn't a planet, in reality. It was a small asteroid, around with the Government had constructed a town. All the government buildings were on the planet, as well as a city filled with all the officials who worked there. It was the capital, and an incredibly ugly, metallic city. Shaw liked it though; it had great food, since men and women and others of all planetary system lived here, working for the government. Food was varied and the languages that bounced around her were exclusively familiar. It was a nice feeling when one had been out of country for so long. Shaw had once had a father who had worked in the Army's offices here for a while. Shaw and her mother had enjoyed the city then.

Shaw walks through the criss-crossing platforms, taking in the thousands of different smells, mainly from competing food vendors, all who serve food at tables haphazardly places on the sidewalks. There is no weather in the Core of this plant; no atmosphere to generate rain or heat. Everything relies on the planet’s internal cooling system. There is fake sunlight that gives every citizen their required amount of Vitamin D and syncs everyone's body clocks. Other than that, Government’s architects made no effort to replicate the natural world. It was not reality; it was a massive planet made out of metal and stone.

Shaw wanders down into the heart of the planet until she reaches the small asteroid around which this planet had been constructed. The asteroid, approximately the size of Shaw, is kept afloat in a glass bowl. Next to it was the best Falafel place that Shaw had ever eaten from, even now. She sits down at the high counter.

"Shaw!" The owner grins, happily. Shaw nods at him, smiling slightly back. The man had been third cousins with her mother, and referred to her as family. "Your usual?" She nods.

Shaw does not have family, but he loved to give her extra humus and tell her about the politics, so she let the epithet pass. There was no harm in words, after all.

"Here you go," Takar says, grinning. "How are things? How is business?" Shaw is not sure what Takar thinks she does, but he always asks that same, vague, questions, and Shaw echoes the same vague sentiment every time.

"Good."

"Wonderful! So does mine! You know, this big boy," he claps the side of the bowl containing the asteroid, "might just finally be becoming the tourist attraction I always knew it could be."

"You hope people will pay money to see that thing?"

"Why not? How many space rocks have you seen, Shaw?"

"A lot. This is an especially ugly one." Takar looks put out and crosses his arms.

"Not many people have seen as many as you," he huffs.

"You do realise to get here in order to _see_ your attraction people will need to travel through space, right?"

"Yes! And they will bring their money!"

"You misunderstand, Takar. They will fly through space, and they will see space rocks. Why would they care about this one?"

"They can see it close?"

"They are rocks, Takar. Most terraformed planets have some variation of them."

"You are such a killjoy, Shaw." Shaw shrugs and bites into her falafel.

"I'm just being honest," she explains through a full mouth. Takar waves her away and leaves her in peace. Shaw continues her meal quietly.

 

Two hours and fifty-nine minutes later, Shaw has stocked up on food and retanked the ship. She even finagled Rowan to give her an upgraded ship. “This is a really urgent, top secret mission,” Shaw explains, eying the ship Rowan is currently working on. They side-eye Shaw and put down the wrench, crossing their arms in disbelief.

“You’re just trying to get a fast ship out of me,” they point out.

“Please, Rowan,” she asks politely. Rowan sighs.

“I do owe you a favor…” they agree, trailing off.

"And this is for a very important mission Control is sending us on," Shaw adds. They sigh and give in.

"I have a great twelve engine ship for you, but you'll have to take care of it. I am very proud of her."

"You know me and ships," Shaw promises. Rowan's mouth thins.

"Well, I also know your partner," they point out.

"He will not be driving," Shaw promises. Rowan nods and wipes their hands on the cloth that they had sticking out of their jeans pocket.

"Well then, I suppose we'd better change your ship in the log."

Shaw brings back her old ship and flies the new ship to the port where she had told Cole to meet him. Exactly three hours later he runs in, carrying a pile of books and a bag of chips. He makes a face when he sees their new ship.

"You got us a fast ship," he complains. Shaw nods. "It's one of those ones where we have to climb in sideways," he adds. It’s true; all the ship's engines are on the bottom, and thus it lands on its exhaust pipe system, which _does_ mean that one has to clamber in and practically lie down in the seats. That, however, just makes it intensely fast. Shaw doesn’t understand why this is something worth complaining about.

"I like it," she says happily. Cole sighs and hands her the bag of chips.

"For the ones he ate," he explains. Shaw smiles and accepts the chips. Chips are expensive on Government, and she knows he probably needed to shell out a lot more for these than for the ones they bought on Amhyrst. She _is_ hungry again though...

"Did you find what you needed?" She asks, clambering into the ship. Cole shrugs and puts the books by his feet in the passenger seat before lying down in the chair.

"I suppose so," he sighs. "Sometimes the right answer isn't the answer you were looking for though, you know?" Shaw just shoots him a confused look.

"No, I don't know," she admits. He shrugs again.

"It's okay." Shaw starts the ship. She contacts air traffic control. They give her the green light. She rights them up; Cole "oomfes" unpleasantly as the ship yanks him around.

"Delicately," he begs.

"Sorry, this control takes some getting used to," Shaw apologises, and they zoom into the vast night sky.

"Where to first?" Cole asks, bringing up their onboard computer. Although Cole won't admit it, Shaw knows he loves the on board computer on these turtle ships because they are incredibly fast and receptive to touch. Cole pauses and types in some coordinates into the computer.

"I think we should go to Antananarivo to start with," he decides.

"Do we know people in Antananarivo?" Shaw asks, typing the planet's name into the board computer obediently.

"One of the Seekers I talked to told me that Antananarivo was the place to ask questions right now." Shaw purses her lips.

"I haven't been to that section of the universe in a couple of years," she admits.

"Not since Nicole Phoebe Velasquez," Cole agrees. Shaw tilts her head and nods.

"Ah yes, I had forgotten Nicole Phoebe Velasquez." She had been a traitor and had planned to start a rebellion in Antananarivo. Shaw and Cole had taken her and her operatives out before too much action could be taken. But since then, Antananarivo had become a hotbed of dissident forces. Some other operatives had been sent there more frequently. Shaw and Cole, however, were in charge of missions that required more finesse these days, and thus hadn't been back.

"I _can't_ forget Nicole Phoebe Velasquez," Cole mutters. "That was my first quadruple homicide." Shaw shoots him a glare.

"You mean _my_ first quadruple homicide," she corrects him. "You just watched while I shot them. You didn't even have to smell their blood, or feel their dead cold bodies."

"You don't mind so much," he mutters. Shaw scowls.

"Whatever." She checks the board computer.  Antananarivo is closer than Amhyrst - they will be there within two hours. She pulls up the board computer and continues the game she was playing before. Cole watches her absently for a while and then starts talking again.

"I have begun to have questions, you know, Shaw," He says, sleepily. Shaw glances over at him, and then back at her game.

"Questions?" she asks.

"Yeah. About the numbers. Where do they come from? Who are they? Why are we doing what we're doing?"

"We get them from Research."

“But what is Research?”

“Research is research, Cole.”

"That's not good enough, Sam." Shaw sighs, pauses her game and turns back to Cole so she can look him straight in the eye as she explains this to him sternly.

“Look, Cole, you and I both know that those numbers come from dark places where people get _hurt_.” Cold turns away, head shaking and brings up the computer screen again.

“The numbers are right too often, Sam,” he mutters. Shaw narrows her eyes.

“What have you done, Cole?” She asks quietly, warning clear in her voice. Cole doesn’t look away from his computer.

“I asked some questions, Shaw.”

“What?”

“I talked to a couple of Seekers back on Government who owe me a favour or two. They said they would help me find answers.” Shaw’s look was of blank disbelief. “Don’t worry, they won’t drag you down with me. I am asking the questions, independently. They know that. You’re career isn’t on the line here, Sam. I got your back.”

Shaw wants to strangle him. This fiercely intelligent man, who believes in the cause as much as she does, if not more, can sometimes misunderstand their organisation too well. She closes her eyes, opens them again. Cole is worried. His eyes are flickering between her and the game of Tetris; the blocks are building up but he makes no move to stop them, carefully waiting for her reaction first. Shaw huffs, and turns back to her own game.

“We will discuss this when we are done hunting down our name. Now, stop playing Tetris and start doing some digging.” Cole hands her a memory stick.

“The Seekers also gave me everything they knew on an android called Root,” he explains. “This memory stick contains her last known coordinates. See what you can do with that. I’m going to find her story.”

“Her? It’s a female android?”

“As far as the Seekers could tell, yes.”

“Well, this should be interesting….”

The android called Root sent an email to someone on Constantinople. Constantinople is a small moon off a much larger gas planet. The planet is hot and covered in desert, though its one and only large city is famous for being a headquarter for many textile industry firms. It is an easy planet to get too, near the hub of galactic travel, and right off what is now affectionately nicknamed "the Silk Road".

Shaw reprograms the autopilot.

"What are you doing?" Cole asks, surprised.

"Antananarivo may be the place to asks questions, but I have a gut feeling that Constantinople is the place for answers," she replies. He rolls his eyes.

"Do you really think a programmed covert android would send an un-encoded messages from a public place and not immediately leave the planet?"

"I think a covert android may think it’s harder to find than it really is." Shaw disagrees. Cole raises an eyebrow. Shaw shrugs.

"We need to set up a patrol on all travel leaving Constantinople immediately. Stop all androids from leaving."

"Detain them?" Cole asks.

"I want to see who wants to leave," Shaw agrees. Cole shrugs, and writes the message. Somewhere, an hour away ships are being searched and androids detained all in the name of looking for a woman called Root.

 

The ship lands, and Cole curses his luck as he crawls out before Shaw, dragging his bag behind him.

"I can't exactly stay in this tiny box," he complains, "and I need a place to work."

"I am sure that in a city full of offices I can find you a quiet place," Shaw mutters, shushing him. Cole makes a face, but follows Shaw anyway. The governor, a small round man, has come out to meet them and shakes their hands respectfully.

"Agents," he mutters. They return the head bow and nod. "All my people have detained the androids and robots that have tried to leave the planet since your message arrived."

"How many were there?" The man glances at Shaw.

"Four," he admits, slightly disappointed with the number. "All of them are workers at the factories, and after I called up their supervisors, have had their identity confirmed repeatedly. I am sorry to say that I have yet to find the robots that you are looking for."

"Release the ones in your custody, then," Shaw commands.

"Yes ma'am," she governor nods at one of the men with him. He marches off to complete the task. Cole is still shuffling three steps behind Shaw, holding all his equipment and clearly feeling awkward.

"Do you have a spare office my friend could work from?" Shaw asks, absently. "I have to go run some errands and he does not like the heat so much."

Everything is arranged.

 

It’s hot in Constantinople. The gas planet the moon orbits burns, and thus there are two suns always concentrating their heat on this tiny rock. Other than this city, the planet is mostly desert, but here in the city Shaw finds the heat almost worst. Constantinople has a disproportionate robot and android population, and thus more of the city is metallic. The metallic buildings and metallic bars, all scrubbed stainless steel, reflect the sunlight even more, creating a trap of shimmering heat.

"The bar to go ask questions should be right on your left," Cole hums in Shaw's ear. Cole is chatting in Shaw's ear on a private, encoded channel, and so Shaw can find the android named Root and Cole can still help. She glances to her left; it's there. Shaw makes a face, and steps inside.

Shaw sits down in the bar, and the bartender, a beautiful brunette approached her. "Whiskey straight," Shaw orders.

"Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?" Cole asks in Shaw's ear. Shaw ignores him and watches the bartender pour her drink.

"That's it?" She asks, head tilted. Shaw slides some money over the counter; its money for the drink, plus a sizeable bribe.

"That and some answers," she suggests. The bartender neatly arranges her hair over her shoulder and grins conspiratorially, accepting the money.

"I'm very good at those," she assures Shaw. Shaw glances down at her name badge.

"Caroline," she starts, "I'm looking for an android."

"An android?"

"A female android."

"Gender doesn't mean much here."

"I know her last known location," Shaw offers. The bartender grins and extends her hand.

"I can do a lot with a collection of numbers," she promises, eyes sparkling. Shaw hands her a newspaper. The bartender peels the corner and hums.

"I know that place," she says with a grin. Shaw is disturbed.

"She's not an android, if that's what you were going to ask." Cole whispers in her ear Shaw doesn't answer. Caroline slides the newspaper back.

"That's an apartment building about three blocks from here," she hums.

"How did you know that?" Shaw asks suspiciously, throwing back her drink and pocketing the newspaper.

"I live in a town of androids. I would have a very hard time doing my job if I didn't know important coordinates." Shaw nods.

"Can you give me directions?"

"Sure!" It’s a simple couple of blocks and a turn at a light. Caroline smiles at Shaw and asks her if she can remember that. Shaw nods.

"Thanks," she says and leaves.

"I hate this city," Shaw mumbles.

"Because you think everyone is an android?"

"I just can't tell the difference."

"Humanity is a riddle," Cole agrees. Shaw just flips up the collar on her coat to hide from the sunlight.

 

The apartment building that Caroline directed Shaw too is large and reminds Shaw of a large mirror.

"Why does everything in this city have to reflect so much?" She mutters, annoyed.

"Androids like sunlight; their batteries become more efficient in sunlight," Cole explains.

"I don't know why you feel the need to be an encyclopedia on _everything_ , Cole?"

Shaw shoulders into the building. A man is sitting at the front desk.

"Hello, how may I help?" A man asks.

"A female android," Shaw asks. The man tilts his head.

"Gender is not an object here," he replies. Shaw sighs, frustrated.

"Has anyone moved out?" She tries again.

"What's the timeframe?"

"Three days,"

"One vacancy." Shaw decides she likes him.

"Can I see the apartment?"

"Of course."

"In case you're wondering, the caretaker _is_ an android," Cole hums. Shaw follows the caretaker as he steps into the elevator. "I still can't believe you can't tell," Cole complains.

"How am I supposed to tell?" Shaw breathes out. The man does not notice.

"There is something in their eyes," Cole explains.

"Well, I don't see it," Shaw snaps. The elevator opens and Shaw follows the man down the corridor. He unlocks the door and then gestures at the room.

"Will you need anything else?" he asks. Shaw shakes her head.

'That will be it." He leaves.

Shaw begins inspecting the apartment; espionage requires her to notice minute details. She runs a hand along a counter, and then underneath it; there is nothing there. She sighs. This is the boring part of espionage; she finds this frustratingly dull.

"Have you found anything out about our friend?" Shaw asks Cole, tilting her head and opening drawers.

"It’s been difficult, but she is no match for me!" Cole croons.

"So?" Shaw prompts.

"Your usual dysfunctional android story; she was created to fix and operate computers, got into an accident and then vanished. The spokesman at the factory speculated that her empathy chip was fired, but I disagree." Shaw makes an encouraging noise as she walks into the bedroom to check the bed.

"Anything else?" She asks, when Cole is silent.

"This girl is good; she really knows how to hide things."

"Does that mean you don't know anything?"

"Who do you think I am? Of course I know stuff!"

"What else can you give me?"

"She's smart."

"Too smart?"

"See, that raises an interesting question. Can androids be more than intelligent? Can they have a higher IQ than they were programmed with? She was programmed with an already high IQ, but she is nearly invisible to me now, which seems to suggest an even higher IQ now."

Shaw sighs.

"Nothing you say ever makes sense," she tells Cole, walking into the next room. It's so clean; there are not even fingerprints on the faucet. Shaw grinds her teeth and tries to limit her annoyance. This android was programmed to be good at this, but she is still a mechanical being, functioning with sparks and circuits. She can't be smart enough to outsmart both Cole and her, can she?

"Well, I'm just saying that I don't like what I'm seeing," Cole hums. Shaw spots something at the bottom of the bin.

"I think I found something," she says, victorious. In his little office, Cole looks up, immediately interested.

"Yes! I knew you would! No robot can out-smart Sameen Shaw!" He woops. Shaw winces at his enthusiasm and pulls out the receipt from the bottom of the bin. It was stuck there with gum, but Shaw isn't fazed.

"Hey Cole, androids don't eat, right?"

"Well actually, the most recent model has learnt to convert the water in food into gasoline."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they eat very water rich foods, like courgette or cucumber, and then can use that water to run."

"Okay, but _this_ android doesn't eat, right?"

"No, our android is running on a slightly out-dated system. She uses alcohol and gasoline as cheap fuel sources."

"So why is she in a bodega five blocks away from here buying chocolate?"

"Chocolate?"

"Yup. One bar of it. For a large price."

"Shaw!" Cole's excitement is barely masked. "Look at you, you genius," he grins. Shaw sighs and shakes her head.

"You're the genius," she reminds him.

"What does that make you?" He asks, confused. "The muscles?"

"I prefer the looks," she jokes, before she hangs up. She has places to go.

 

The bodega is called Martin's and it’s the closest food store on the block. Their shelves have an inordinate amount of cheap alcohol on them and Shaw makes a face. It's a waste of this Jameson to feed it to androids, she wants to tell the bodega manager. Instead she grabs a bottle and does her best to have /that/ look in her eyes.

"I am here for something..." she pauses and leans on the counter, "...sweeter."

The man behind the bodega isn't an android. Shaw is surprised she is so sure of this fact, but there is something in the awkward way that he moves, and in his sour expression, that reminds her of an angry hermit crab. Androids don't usually remind her of angry hermit crabs. She tilts her head, and the man follows the line of her top down to her exposed cleavage. He licks his lips; definitely not an android.

"Who told you about this place?" He demands.

"A girl named Root," Shaw says sweetly. The man narrows his eyes.

"She owes me money," he hisses. Shaw raises an eyebrow.

"Money? For chocolate?" She asks, pushing the receipt across the counter. The man pales and backs away.

"Who are you?" He asks. Shaw pulls out her gun and cocks it.

"Someone who wants to know why a fuel running android bought chocolate."

"Are you the police?" He squeaks. Shaw scoffs and hops over the counter.

"Do you really think the police would bother with you?" She asks, approaching the man slowly. He cowers in the corner, sweat breaking out along his forehead as he glances between Shaw and her gun in a manic fear. She sighs and slides the safety forward again.

"Don't worry about it," she promises him. "I won't shoot you if you give me the information I need."

"She was here four days ago," he wheezes. Shaw narrows her eyes at him. He sounds like he's having an asthma attack. Suddenly he begins to claw at his throat. Shaw glances at the counter; there is an inhaler there. She offers it to him, and he snatches it, grateful. "And then she came back yesterday," he wheezes. He takes an inhale.

Shaw waits patiently. She waits for thirty seconds, and then she realises this man's throat isn't relaxing. Breathing isn't easier for him. He's clawing at his throat, eyes bulging and face incredibly red. She steps forward and grabs the inhaler away from him. "Are you allergic to anything?" She demands. The man is panicking; he collapses against the wall, shaking his head. Shaw looks around for a pipe desperately, but there is nothing there. She winces and runs to the drinks machine, grabbing a straw. She pours some of the alcohol from the counter onto it and then jams it down the man's throat. The straw bends; it isn't strong enough. The man continues to choke.

Shaw looks around for something to save him wildly. But there is nothing. He claws his neck and then reaches for Shaw.

"Save me," he gasps. She can’t. She stays with him, until he stops breathing. Then she just gets up and walks away, turning on her phone again.

"Cole," Shaw hums into her earpiece.

"What?" Cole asks absently.

"The bodega owner just went into anaphylactic shock."

"What?"

"He's dead."

"What?! Shaw!"

"No, that's not what I want you to know. Root was in here. Yesterday. Get me a visual."

"But he's..."

"Dead," Shaw agrees. She reaches the phone and calls the emergency servies and leaves the phone off the hook.

"On it," Cole hums.

They will find him. There is a twinge of regret and annoyance, and then nothing.

"So this girl called Root wanted this man out of the picture. Why did she poison him?"

"Wait what?"

"The man's asthma inhaler was poisoned. I am assuming that our friend Root slipped something into it. I want to find out what he was selling that she was hiding."

"I'll find that out too," Cole hums.

"We'll have her soon," Shaw promises. Cole snorts.

"I don't know if I _want_ to find her anymore," he admits. "She seems like a real piece of work. I kind of just want to shut her down."

"So do I. So let's work faster."

"Do you have any more leads to chase?" Cole asks.

"I'm heading back to the bar to ask a couple more questions."

"Do you think you'll get answers?"

"It's always worth a try."

 

"I have more questions," Shaw says, sitting down in the bar. The bartender raises her eyebrows and glances at the bottle of Jameson in Shaw's right hand.

"And I see you brought your own drink this time," she comments with a grin. Shaw can't remember taking that; she double takes and then shrugs.

"Do you mind?" she asks. The bartender laughs and pushes an empty glass over the bar.

"Not at all. So, how can I help?"

"The android called Root," Shaw began.

"Still eludes you?" The bartender asks, grinning. She's gone back to cleaning glasses, but she's grinning at Shaw all the same.

"Slightly," Shaw admits. She tilts her head.

"How can I help?" She asks.

"She bought a chocolate bar for two hundred dollars from Martin's. What did she really buy?"

"Martin's? He deals in memory chips and identity theft, mainly."

"Memory chips?"

"I doubt your friend wanted those. Martin's extracts the memory chips from androids in need of money or a change. They give him memory and information on whatever government task they were assigned to work on, and Martin makes him disappear. He is known to have really made a dent selling that information to the wrong people." Shaw frowns. He sounds like a relevant number. Why hasn't she heard of him?

"So Root could have had her programming knowledge extracted for money?"

"It’s possible," the bartender - Caroline - agrees, though she looks sceptical.

"You don't believe that's what happened?" Shaw asks, digging.

"Yes, I doubt she did that," Caroline agrees and she puts down her glasses to lean closer to Shaw.

"Your android friend was not working for the government and thus she had no information Martin could want. I believe she probably just bought a new identity the old fashioned way."

"With money?"

"Probably." Shaw nods. That doesn't explain why Martin is dead on the bodega floor though. But she doesn't want to ask the bartender that. She plays it close to her chest, and slides the empty glass back to the bartender. She neatly catches it as it falls off the counter.

"Nice reflexes," Shaw assures her, standing up and dropping another handful of bills on the counter.

"I try," she says with a smile, and takes the money off the counter. "See you soon?"

"Hopefully not," Shaw admits, and leaves.

The bartender just continues to grin as she throws the cash in the bin.

 

"Hey Shaw, I have a visual for you," Cole chirps. Shaw picks up her phone and waits patiently as it loads the image.

"She's quite a looker," Cole hums. The picture has finished loading. The picture is in colour, if a bit grimy. Shaw stares at it, and then swears.

"What?!" Cole asks, immediately concerned.

"I know that face," Shaw snaps as she turns around on her heel.

"What?!" Cole repeats.

"She's our friend the bartender."

 

 


	2. Act I, Scene II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End of the Exposition (or, the chapter in which Shaw runs a lot and Root smiles a lot)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY ABOUT THE LATENESS turns out i have a really hard time writing on planes who knew

Act 1, Scene 2

“Ah Shaw,” The bartender, formerly known as Caroline, now known as Root, sighs as Shaw runs into the bar. She’s standing by the back door, gun cocked. “You and your littler partner here make the outwitting way too easy.”

Shaw clenches her jaw and shoots. But Root has already disappeared.

 

“I need permission to engage,” Shaw seethes, pacing back and forth in Cole’s office. It’s a small room that the government gave him, but he has already decked it out with all his technology, though it’s all currently off. He can't secure everything against whatever this Android can do, and they don't want to risk it. So in this room? No technology while they talk.

"How do you want to reach Control?" He asks, head tilted. Shaw seethes.

"There must be some traffic from this planet to Government. A mail man or something."

"I don't think that interplanetary messaging is left in the hands of simple delivery companies."

'Well, if you were the government, who would you entrust with messages?"

"People I could trust."

"So us?" Shaw asks,tilting her head. Cole looks at her, and nods.

"Pretty much."

"Who else?" She pokes further. Cole shrugs, sighs and then shakes his head.

"No one," he replies honestly.

"Seriously, Cole?!" Shaw snaps, frustrated. Distrusting people is _her_ job. Cole jumps back, as if bitten, and begins thinking faster.

"Well, okay,” he stammers, “how about someone in the military."

"The military?"

"There was a ship of them earlier,” he says, indicating outside.

“Of them?” Shaw raises an eyebrow.

“Soldiers, whatever,” Cole corrects himself, waving Shaw off. “We can contract one of the men to go back to Government. I have a couple of questions, anyway." He ruffles his papers; a sure sign of anxiety. Shaw tilts her head.

"What kind of questions?" She asks, immediately put on guard. Cole sighs and fidgets. Shaw narrows her eyes and sighs. “What is it?” She repeats.

“How do I say this simply?” He asks. Shaw narrows her eyes and clenches her jaw; she does not have the patience for this. Cole can tell her impatience, and so fidgets some more. He tilts his head.“So you know how I said she didn't have a serial number?" Shaw nods.

"She deleted it," she explains.

"Yes, well, I realised all her _parts_ must have originally had serial numbers. So I tracked her to the factory where they created her. They use old fashioned hearts there; they still give out a small microelectric signal every time they beat."

"Androids have beating hearts?" Shaw asks, surprised.

"Obviously,” Cole gives Shaw that look when something he said should be obvious. She narrows her eyes at him. He continues quickly. “Anyway, so I realised we could track her based on her heart beat if I figured out which frequency was hers!"

"That's amazing," Shaw admits, grudgingly.

"Well, no it isn't. It was an amazing thought, but I couldn't follow it through." Shaw tilts her head.

"Why?" She asks.

"Well, there is no heart for her on the file."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, actually, the deeper I dug into her file, the less of her seemed to exist." Shaw crosses her arms.

"What do you mean?" She repeats.

"I think she spoofed the trail she gave us."

"What?"

"Remember what she said about outsmarting us? I think this is part of that."

"What do you mean?" Shaw repeats _again_ , feeling slow and stupid. Cole sighs and shows Shaw one of his papers.

"She made a very very good fake identity for herself, but I don't think that our android is _this_ android.” Cole sighs and taps the table, before turning around to look at Shaw with an incredibly serious face. “I think the Seekers gave me false information, even if they didn't know it." Shaw blinks. Research has _never_ been wrong.

"So what are you going to do?" She asks, slowly. Cole shrugs.

"Well, first things first. I'm going to start digging somewhere else."

"Where are you going to start?" Shaw asks, tilting her head again. He scratches his head and shrugs.

"I think I'm going to start with her name. You don't become this good a programmer without leaving some imprint on the web of yourself." Shaw scoffs.

"She just created an incredibly detailed false identity that had you followed for about a day. I think she could operate without leaving a trace," she points out.

"You have too little faith in me," Cole hums. "I know people and I know back entrances."

"That doesn't sound nice," Shaw says, grinning. She picks up her gun and cocks it again. Cole rolls his eyes.

"Just go. Find a nice man in the army and make him bear our message to Control,” Cole says, indicating the door for Shaw. She nods.

“Once we have permission to engage I would like to be able to," She agrees and prepares to leave. Cole taps his tooth.

"Do you think they want her dead?" He asks her as she stands by the door.

"Probably just restarted,” Shaw replies with a shrug.

“Restarted,” Cole repeats, humming again. He looks down at his papers, and then up at Shaw again. “On the other hand, her code might be so corrupt that death will be the only option." Shaw tilts her head, surprised.

"Can you really corrupt a code that badly?" Cole snorts and shrugs.

"She might just be bad code," he hums. Shaw shrugs and leaves.

 

Shaw walks through the city again, suddenly a lot more alert. Her hatred for the city grows exponentially as she keep on jumping at movement in the corner of her eye, only to find that it is her own reflection starting back at her from a slanted or broken mirror. It’s too hot; Shaw pulls her scarf over her face and covers her eyes with it. She looks less like an outsider now; many of the Androids on the street have covered up their hair and faces. Shaw doesn't know why, but she decides she prefers the multitude of brightly coloured scarves anyway. She ducks into one of the louder bars; if there is one sure way to find army officers who are given shore leave, its loud bars. And she is right; the bar is full of burly men and women, clearly soldiers, enjoying the music and the sound. Shaw glances down at her watch; its 5pm planet time. Soon no one will be sober enough to fly. She has to find someone quick.

She sweeps the bar. There is a man in a corner, nursing a single drink. He looks too wimpy, too out of it. She watches the room again. She catches sight of her. A short, burly dark haired woman. Her skin is brown and shining in the bar and she is laughing at a man's joke. She looks nice when she smiles. Shaw can see sobriety on her though; she's nursing a soda water.

A careful woman; this one will be perfect. Shaw weaves through the bar and places her best fake smile on her lips.

"Hey, darling," she coos as she approaches her mark. The woman turns and tilts her head.

"Do I know you?" she asks, polite. Shaw grabs her hand and drags her away from the bar.

"Mike sent me," she says simply. The officer tears her hand back, but follows Shaw anyway.

"I don't know a Mike," she says as they stand in a corner. Shaw glances at the camera at the bar. It is pointed the other way.

"Hello, my name is Sam," she begins, rolling up her sleeve. She shows the woman her tattoo. The woman nods in recognition. "I work for important people and I need your help." The woman looks at the tattoo and then dabs it. It doesn't smudge. She rubs harder. It stays. She tilts her head.

"Okay, Sam, who do you work for?" She asks, tilting her head. Sam grins. They are going to be very good friends.

 

Her name is Carter and after minimal explanation she agrees to fly to Government immediately.

Shaw grumbles when Carter demands the ship, but she just gives Shaw a deadly glare. “I’m giving up my shore leave for you,” Carter snaps, hands extended. “I would prefer to do it in five hours instead of eight.”

Shaw sighs and gives her the keys.

The sunsets fast in Constantinople; barely half an hour later and Shaw emerges from the bar, and it’s already dark out. Shaw puts her hood up again and taps her ear, engaging the phone again.

“Our message will be with Control in three hours,” Shaw tells Cole.

“Wonderful. Great. Yes. What message again?”

“The message you will be giving someone who will appear in your office in seven to nine minutes.”

“So I have to give a message too?”

“You said you had questions! Control will be able to answer them!”

“Okay. What are you doing right now?”

“I’m going to find our friend the old-fashioned way,” she says, teeth gritted. She makes to hang up, but Cole catches her before she does.

“Wait, Sam, wait,” he says quickly. “I thought we tried the old fashioned way already with asking the individual we were chasing about how to find her.”

“Now I have her face,” Shaw explains. “It’s harder to hide from me when I know your face.”

“I’ll bare that in mind,” he mutters wryly. Shaw hears a knock in the background.

“Our friend is here early. Give her the keys to the ship.” Shaw hangs up.

 

The night is uneventful; despite Shaw’s boast to Cole, Root is untraceable. She begins at the bar; turns out the real bartender was tazed and bound in the cupboard. Neither the owner nor the real bartender known as Caroline know anything about a slight brunette android. Shaw takes a step back; she goes back to the apartment, and tries to determine how Root set the scene up. But there is nothing there other than what Root wants her to find. Even showing the image on Shaw’s phone does not get her any further; the man at the front desk simply shrugs and tells her again that people are not important to him.

Shaw goes back to the apartment; you need a chip (one that every android has in their right hand) to open the apartment, so the caretaker accompanies Shaw again, silent stocisim.

He walks

By then it is 3am. She’s too exhausted to continue looking and feels her eyes drooping. She secures the apartment one last time, before she curls up on the floor on the other side of the bed and sleeps.

 

"Shaw? Shaw!" Cole is whispering into the ear piece; it wakes Shaw. She sits up immediately and blinks at the clock. It's 5am.

"Yes, Cole?" She offers, quietly.

"Shaw, I just left my office. Where are you?" Shaw realises his voice is shaking.

"What? Why?" She demands.

"There were...” Cole’s voice is definitely shaking, and he takes a reassuring breath. “I just didn't feel safe there." Shaw stands up, confused.

"You were in the safest building I could secure for you!" She exclaims.

"Yeah, but there were people...gathering?"

"Gathering?" She repeats.

"I just didn't feel good about it, Shaw,” he squeaks. “Where are you?" He sounds frantic.

"I'm in Root's apartment," Shaw supplies. Cole does a double take.

"Why?" He asks. Shaw shrugs.

"She won't come back here," she explains.

"Why?" Cole asks again.

"She has done everything she wants here now. Come join me. I'll buzz you in. You can set up here until you feel safer." Cole sometimes has these episodes where he is convinced everyone is watching him and the government is tracking him. Shaw knows that _this_ is what makes him such a great analyst; he is able to anticipate even the most paranoid person's moves because he calculates them based on his _own_ potential moves. Its simple, he had claimed, back when Shaw first asked him. The inherent disadvantage to Cole's uncomfortable phobia was that sometimes he needed to be close to Shaw, just to be reminded that he wasn't going to die. He was much like a cat, in that way.

Shaw had always been more of a dog person. But for Cole she made an exception.

She buzzes him as he arrives and just nods at him. He's wearing a large hooded coat and under it he's hiding his chunky laptop, the one he claims he has programmed to do everything. Shaw doesn't doubt it; Cole is a genius.

"What are we going to do now?" He asks, as he sets up machinery. Shaw smiles knowingly.

"Well, first we're going to get breakfast."

"Our friend has nothing in her fridge?" Cole asks, surprised.

"I didn't check," Shaw replies earnestly. Cole shrugs and walks to the fridge. He opens it. Inside, there are two cereal bars and nothing else.

"That's strange," Cole mumbles, taking one and throwing another one to Shaw. Shaw caught the bar effortlessly and stared down at it.

“It is,” she agrees suspiciously.

"It’s like she knew we'd be here." Shaw freezes, suddenly connecting the dots.

"What if she did?” She asks, slowly thinking through the consequence of that thought. “Didn't Control say she had a connection with something?"

“A computer of some sort,” Cole hums, biting into his cereal bar. "Yeah, that would make sense,” he muses through a full mouth. “I mean, any large computer could predict the future to a certain degree of accuracy, but I doubt that’s what happened here.” Shaw raises an eyebrow questioningly. “It’s just... I had no plans to come over here. I came over here because I didn't feel well. How can a machine anticipate that I am not feeling well?" Shaw shrugs.

"Are you wearing any heart monitors or anything?" Shaw offers. Cole shakes his head.

"Nothing." He worries his lip and sets up the laptop on the counter.

"Your friend never reported back to me," he mutters, staring at the black screen as the computer whirrs to life. Shaw frowns.

"She didn't?" She asks, knowing her means Officer Carter.

"No, and she landed three hours ago. I have her arrival log here," Cole passes Shaw his phone, where he has a screenshot of the electronically filled out arrival log. Shaw frowns, disconcerted.

"She's not the type of soldier to do that," she mutters.

"What do you mean?"

"Something is not right," Shaw decides.

"Something feels off," Cole agrees. Shaw narrows her eyes and runs a hand under the table again. Where yesterday there was nothing, today, there is a gun. She pulls it out. Cole doesn't look up from his computer; he hums as the screen shows his own login page and he begins logging in.

"She was here," Shaw snaps.

"What?" Cole looks up, confused. Something pings of Cole's laptop. Shaw has walked to the door and is running her hands along the latches. Nothing is forced. How did she manage to get in here?

"Shaw, get down!" Cole's call is a second too late; a shot snaps through the air and makes a circular hole in the door. It's in Shaw shoulder, and it's smarting, and suddenly there are four hundred bullets rattling into the apartment. Cole is on top of Shaw, forcing her down. Shaw is speechless.

"She found us," she hisses at Cole as he rolls off her. They have ten seconds, and then three men will enter through that door. Standard military tactic. Why would Root have access to military men? Shaw ignores this, and cocks her gun. She aims it at the door, and shoots three times in rapid succession as three men stumble in through the fog. She quickly checks their dead bodies for pulses and takes their radio equipment. "Cole, are you ready to move?"

"I don't think so," Cole whispers. Shaw does a double take; it is not drink that Cole spilled on himself. There is blood on his chest, and it's coming from three wounds in his chest. How did he get shot? Shaw is just staring, paralysed by dismay.

"Go, Shaw," Cole gasps. "They set us up. It was a trap. Go." Shaw is angry and frustrated and incredibly incredibly alone in that one second. She waits, and listens as another team is commanded to move in. She has another gun on her, thank god, because the gun that was in this apartment before is out of bullets. Shaw drops it on the ground and aims again. She closes her eyes, exhales, refocuses, and begins shooting again. She is not going to die here.

"Are they dead?" It’s a harsh voice at the end of the radio. Shaw watches as another team moves in; there is no way out through the doors. Shaw looks around; there is no balcony, only a fire escape that she can access through the kitchen window. She shrugs, waits for the “go” for the Bravo Team and jumps out of the window.

She lands on the metal fire escape with a metallic clang. On the fire escape, she slides down the ladder. "She's down the fire escape," she hears through the system. Several members of Bravo Team shoot down at Shaw from above her. She shoots back through the metal grill, but she tries to conserve her bullets. She goes down another flight. More bullets rain down on her.

A bullet pierces Shaw’s shoulder. She hisses in pain and dismay as she lets go of the ladder, falling gracelessly on the metal. She glances at the wound as it quells up blood. Fire escape is no longer an option.

The window on Shaw’s left is not open, so she rams the butt of her gun into the glass. It takes two attempts for it to shatter, but she runs in anyway, heading straight for the door way. She can hear the footsteps of the operatives behind her on metal. She yanks open the door; there is another operative by the stairway. Shaw has three bullets left. She grits her teeth and prepares to waste the last few bullets of her second gun. But then, he falls down, shot and not by Shaw’s hand. A man emerges from the stairwell as, through the radio, Shaw hears a curse and a cry of "she's got back up!" The man, gun in hand, raises both his hands above his head.

"Shaw, I'm here to help," he says in a calm, rich voice. Shaw scoffs, disbelieving, and shoots him. It would be so much easier if everyone could stop trying to ‘help’ her. He ducks into the corridor, away from her.

Shaw slides down the stairs and doesn't run into anyone. Her "friend" seems to have taken out all the major players on the lower floors. Only the man giving instructions is left. Shaw jumps out of the house, and see him standing at the street corner. Wilson.

"Is the girl dead yet?" He demands, loudly into his handheld radio.

"No," Shaw snaps, and pulls her trigger.

He falls back, bullet in his shoulder and Shaw runs.

 

"They're still behind you." Shaw is nine blocks away from Wilson and the house and Cole's dead body, and she is in a lot of pain. So perhaps it is a miracle that she doesn’t punch the hooded figure that falls into step next to her. Perhaps it is that the hooded figure stepped next to Shaw's left side. With a bullet in her left shoulder, she can’t exactly punch the woman.

"And so are you."

"I hope by now you've figured out those are not my men."

"But why are they after me?"

"Well, that _is_ my fault." She doesn't elaborate, and Shaw grits her teeth through another wave of particularly bad pain. Shaw blinks, and turns around, but Root disappeared.

It’s the disadvantage to a majority android city; there are no dark, derelict corners. There are few cars, and there are definitely no drug dealers. But Shaw has a solution. She is at Martin's bodega again. The door is closed and locked, and there is a crime scene sign plastered over it. Root is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, amused smile playing on her lips.

"I have pain killers, if you want," Root offers. Shaw just slumps against the door and pulls out her gun with an effort. Two bullets left.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now?" She wheezes. Root tilts her head and grins. Then she steps into the street. A car whizzes by, and she is gone. Shaw has no idea how she did that, but right now she doesn’t care. She just closes her eyes, and pushes against the door. It opens, and she is relived. She closes the door, and then begins dragging chairs and boxes of booze in front of the door, creating a makeshift barricade. Once she is done, she is exhausted and covered in sweat. Everything is too much and she can barely breathe.

This must be what panic feels like.

But it's not panic; her body is going into shock. Shaw knows all about the fallible biology of her body, and she scoffs. She will not let it get the better of her. So, small steps.

First, alcohol, to disinfect the bullet wound. Pain killers, for the pain.

Shaw inspects the wound. If she could get to a moving hospital, she would be able to extract the bullet easily enough. The nearest mobile hospital unit is too far for Shaw to go by foot though. She’ll have to wait. She takes another swig of whiskey. She exhales. And she blacks out.

Shaw only out for about thirteen minutes, but when she wakes up she can hear commotions. The broken crime scene tapes triggered alarms, and now there are people trying to break through the barricade that Shaw constructed.

She sighs and pulls herself up on the counter. She closes her eyes and slowly shoulders through the backdoor into a narrow corridor. There is an emergency exit at the end of the hallway, but that will be surrounded by now. To her left is a staircase. Shaw shrugs, and starts climbing the stairs, picking up speed as she gets to the top. Unexpectedly, the stairs lead to the roof.

The roof is flat; from it she can see the two suns rising. One in the south, one in the north. The smaller one in the south; Shaw remembers that from a pop quiz she had when she was in third grade. So, she turns in the opposite direction. Constantinople is an incredibly densely populated city; the roves are built close together. An advantage for Shaw. It’s barely a meter from this roof to the next one. Even with a shot shoulder, she can make the jump eyes closed. But there are men in the alley; operatives trying to break into the store below. Shaw steels herself, and then jumps quietly. But her shadow in the alley way, even for a split second, draws attention to herself. She hears a clatter and watches as men pour into the store. The operatives will be on the roof in a couple of seconds. Shaw doesn't have much time left.

She can’t outrun them. Shaw clenches her teeth; she has to hide.

She jumps a couple more roof tops, making sure to zig zag so it’s harder to follow her, all while desperately searching for a place to hide.

“People don’t really look up much, have you noticed that?” Cole might not be in Shaw’s ear anymore, but he’s in her head, his voice chirping away. Shaw looks up. A water tank. Shaw grins.

The water in the water tank is low; it barely reaches Shaw’s hips. She stands still and listens; initially she is cold, but as the suns rise, the metal tank becomes warmer. She can hear men out on the roof, and then they leave. “Must have gone a different way,” the radio chimes.

She waits, standing in the center of the water patiently.

After she is sure the threat is passed, (“units, disband,”), she steps on the first rung of the ladder to climb out of the water tank one handed.

The lid is lifted and piercing sunlight filters into Shaw’s dark hiding place. She falls back into the shadows, sloshing through the water, as she squints upwards. As her eyes adjust to the light, she recognises the woman's face almost immediately. The stranger offers Shaw a hand. "Either you accept my hand, or you die," she explains. Shaw just stares up at her.

"I'll take the third option," Shaw hisses through gritted teeth. The woman rolls her eyes and grabs Shaw's wrist.

"There is no third option. Trust me, I know." Shaw is yanked out, shoulder sore, and looks her prey in the eye.

"You're not an android." Shaw knows the human body too well. She has traced the inside of her own anatomy with a maps and coloured explanations. She has followed counters on x-rays and listened, head tilted, as doctors in white coats explained the nuances of human flesh. This woman does not consist of circuits and sparks; her hand is fallible and imperfect, unburdened by stainless metallic plates.

She's human; supple and befleshed. And yet.

She can see why she was mistaken for an android.

"You're human," she accuses. Her companion - Root - smiles.

"Not quite," she chirps and then she jumps off the water contained, clearly expecting Shaw to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACK i don't know how i FEEL about this chapter bc it has SO MUCH action???? did i describe it well? were you confused? or not? please advise. also, that last line is SO ROOT (its been in my outline since day 1)


	3. Act 1, Scene III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End of the First Act (ie the chapter in which Shaw demands answers and Root gives her cryptic answers instead)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a BITCH to edit, so i am so sorry for the long wait. side note, all medical stuff in this chapter was checked by my uncle who is a chief of staff at a hospital in new mexico so i am VERY PROUD of its accuracy (that is, except the Patcher, which is clearly a miracle sci-fi addition).

Shaw's pants are wet, her shoe's are wet, and its hot out. Climbing up the ladder with one hand hurts doesn’t dull the uncomfortable pain in her shoulder. She jumps off the water container and lands on the roof easily, though with a slosh. The impact of the land, however, send red hot pain to her shoulder. Shaw shivers for a second, sweat breaking out along her forehead as she supresses the pain. Her not-quite-Android-enemy is walking away, and Shaw straightens, annoyed.

Shaw looks between at her former enemy, now savior, and the edge of the roof. She sighs and clenches her jaw. Her shoulder hurts and she’s an aching type of exhausted and she has no time for this. She turns on her heel, and begins walking the opposite direction. Root pauses and spins around. "Where are you going?" She demands of Shaw's retreating figure. Shaw is nearly at the edge of the roof.

"I need medical supplies," she hisses.

"I have medical supplies," Root replies, forehead furrowed. Shaw continues walking away.

"I don't trust you," she wheezes, staring straight ahead. The pain in her shoulder has grown exponentially in the last hour and suddenly all she wants is painkillers.

"That's okay. I don't need you to trust me," Root tells Shaw’s back cheerfully. Shaw spins around, annoyed.

"You're asking me to follow you into the dark!” She points out. “Of course that requires trust!" Root just tilts her head and smiles, approaching Shaw slowly.

"You’re lucky your bullet avoided both your coronary artery and your aorta," she comments confidently. Shaw tries to brush the words off.

"I would have been dead hours ago if I had," she snaps.

"The bullet was tiny," Root adds. Shaw grimaces, suppressing another wave of pain.

"I know,” she hisses; “it minimized the shock wave and so I have no ruptures in any of my upper internal organs.” She pauses and narrows her eyes at Root. “The question is, how do you know that that?" Root grins, delighted. She comes to a stop about a meter from Shaw.

"I know things,” she explains. She pauses. “Well, She knows things," she corrects herself. More pain. Shaw grimaces and shakes her head.

"And?" She asks.

"And?” Root repeats, tilting her head. “It makes me worth trusting?" She offers.

"Knowledge is not power, Root," Shaw snaps.

"You say that, but both you and I know that that is not true. Knowledge is the newsest and most important currency in our new world."

"What world is that?"

"Our world of information." Shaw slowly approaches Root again. Her shoulder is smarting but she is thinking clearly. The bullet wound is incredibly small; it’s one of the smallest bullet in the force. The advantages of small bullets, Shaw knows, is that they don't block arteries once they are shot open. Easier for internal bleeding, ideal for subtle, hard to trace kills. Shaw stands in front of Root, clenching her jaw in annoyance. Root stands slightly taller; she tilts her head and grins. She smiles down at her, and pushes Shaw's jacket aside.

"There are metal shards in your bones," Root murmurs.

"You don't need to take those out."

"I would never dream of it," Root agrees. She purses her lips, and although her fingers hover over Shaw's skin and she pushes aside the fabric impatiently, Shaw knows she is not making a real medical assessment of the bullet wound. So it surprises her when she drops the material and smiles. "You're really lucky the bullet hit your scapula; it avoided the joint." Shaw stares at Root, completely surprised.

"How did you know that?" Shaw demands. Root ignores her.

"It also narrowly avoided your lung,” She adds humming. Root should not be able to know this without at least _prodding_ the area around the wound, and probably calling on at least one x-ray.

"I thought you were a robotics android. Did you work in the ER?" Shaw demands.

"I'm not an android. And if you come with me, I can stop the pain. I can also accelerate the healing up in your shoulder; you’ll be able to use your arm in three hours." Root walks off again, though this time she grabs Shaw's wrist, clearly not trusting her to follow. Shaw stumbles, but follows, dumb struck.

Root is right. The bullet avoided her joint; she can still move her arm, though it just causes a lot of pain and pulls her lungs in an uncomfortable way that makes breathing harder. But Shaw doesn't care that Root is right; Shaw wants to know _how_ Root is right.

They walk off the rooftop and back into the building, and Shaw's water footsteps quickly evaporate, leaving no visible trace that they were ever there.

Root makes Shaw walk for half an hour; she lets go of Shaw's wrist after the first mile, though after the third mile she beings sending Shaw worried looks, as if Shaw is growing paler. Which she is. She's feeling woozy; the temperature has risen into the 110s and she feels unable to breathe. But she will not show weakness, and thus she continues walking.

Root knows this city well. They enter a "human" area; an ambulance ambles by. There are two EMTs inside, and Root just steps in front of the car.

"Help me, my friend is hurt," she whispers. They tumble out of the truck, desperate to help. Root shoots something at both of them in quick successions, their bodies convulse, and they fall. Shaw stares between Root and their bodies.

"What was that?" She demands, terrified. Root shrugs.

"Just a taser gun. I developed it myself; the bullets are quite expensive though, so I don't like using it much."

"A taser? Then they'll only be unconscious for about ten minutes," Shaw comments.

"We only need three minutes and fifty seconds!" Root replies cheerfully and opens the back of the ambulance. Shaw follows her in, potentially to advise on what to grab, but Root knows where everything is almost too well. "Did you work as an EMT?" Shaw tries. Root laughs.

"Don't be ridiculous," she warns Shaw, and then sits her down on the seat. "Now, stay still." She knows exactly what draw to grab from. She carefully patches up Shaw. As she pulls out the electric gun, Shaw does a double take.

“How did you know this ambulance would have a patcher?” She demands. Only one in a hundred ambulances has the rare and expensive technology. There was no way for Root to know this was the one.

“I told you. I have information.” And with that, they are done. Shaw checks her watch. Three minutes and 48 seconds. Root hops out of the ambulance, and Shaw can’t help but follow. They walk three blocks before Shaw stops.

"What is happening?" Shaw demands. She is no longer in pain, and this has become the most pressing concern. “Why are my own people shooting at me? Why are you helping me? Who are you” Root sighs and turns around. She crosses her arms and gives Shaw a once over.

"A lot of things are happening. I can't explain them to you all. I will, but I can't, not right now." And she walks off again.

"Tell me _something_ ," and Shaw is embarrassed about the pleading note in her voice. Root sighs and she glances over her shoulder at Shaw.

"Well, Michael Cole, your partner, is dead." Shaw clenches her jaw and jogs up to fall into step with Root.

"Why?" She demands.

"Because of me." Shaw marches forward and grabs the woman by the lapels of her shirt.

"Why did you kill him?" Shaw hisses. Root laughs and Shaw almost throws her on the street there and then.

"I didn't kill him,” Root explains calmly. “Quite on the contrary; I tried to save him."

"Save him?" Shaw repeats, incredulous.

"I left you a gun. And food!" Root points out. Shaw lets her go.

"I don't understand," she admits, angry.

" _Your_ people tried to kill him. The people you call Control had him killed."

"Why?" Shaw feels childish and dumb repeating the question, but she wants _answers_.

"He found out too much about me," Root admits, shrugging. Shaw closes her eyes, feeling something akin to exasperation.

"What did Cole find out about me?"

"He realised I am not actually an android."

"But he was showing me...." Shaw started. Root interrupted her.

"Control gave me a fake identity to justify a manhunt for me. But the persona they established for me was not deep enough for an experienced agent like Cole."

"What do you mean?"

"Cole began to suspect foul play, so your Control killed him.” Shaw looks unconvinced. Root sighs and brushes off the dust off her shirt and neatly rearranges herself.

“What does that have to do with me?” Shaw demands when Root doesn’t elaborate.

“Control still wants you dead,” Root points out.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because Control still wants you dead,” Root repeats, sighing as if it’s a simple thing. Shaw squints up at her; both suns are out in full force now, and the street is shimmering with head. But Root just stands there, head tilted slightly, waiting expectantly.

"So what are you going to do now?" Shaw asks, jaw clenched.

"We're going to find out _why_ Control wants me dead," she chirps.

“We?” Shaw asks critically, eyebrows raised.

“She told me you’d help.”

“Who?”

“My friend.”

“Tell your friend she’s wrong. I’m not going to betray the Program.”

“Betray the Program? What are you talking about?”

“The Program is gunning for you, then so am I.” She sighs, looks up at the sky, as if seeking guidance from a higher deity, and then focuses her eyes back on Shaw.

“You used to work for an entity called Research, right?” She’s tilting her head again, her hair falling forward, her smile deceptively sweet.

“How did you know that?” Shaw hisses.

“I work for Research too!” She seems genuinely excited. “Just not your…section of Research,” she adds.

“What do you mean?” Shaw snaps. Root steps forward. Shaw drops into a fighting stance. Root just shakes her head and comes closer anyway.

“I mean, She thinks we’d make a great team.”

“She? Research is a woman?”

“Not quite.” Shaw makes to punch this infuriating woman, but Root blocks the punch, almost as if she knew it was coming. “But She wants me to tell you about the day your father took you to see the baseball game, over on Berlin. You were so excited…” This time Shaw’s hand tightens around Root’s neck.

“Don’t,” she snarls, but Root isn’t phased. Shaw squeezes her hand harder; it’s strange to watch someone choke, at the mercy of a trained killer, and not even see a flicker of panic.

“She just needs your help, Shaw,” Root chokes out.

There is something about causes and martyrs; Shaw has encountered dozens of them in her line of work. Each time, they are either victorious about their death, or they recant their faith and become frighten. Never yet has she seen a body this indifferent to physical pain and suffering.

She unclenches her hand; Root falls back.

"You mean you have no idea why the most powerful government body in this country wants you dead?" She asks, quietly. Root rubs her neck for a second, and then grins again.

"I suspect something, but your Control has been incredibly careful lately."

"Careful with what?"

"What they say."

"You are frustratingly cryptic." Root just grins and strides off.

"I'll try and get better at it,” she promises over her shoulder. Shaw sighs again and jogs to catch up with her, falling into step next to Root again. “First thing is first, we need to leave this planet."

"Why?"

"We can't leave Constantinople without leaving the whole planet."

"Why not? There is another city on this moon somewhere."

"Istanbul is nearly empty and has a very active police squad. No, our best bet is to get off this planet immediately."

"But they're looking for us! And they're searching every form of public transport leaving the planet. I issued that order, and with my disappearance it has probably gotten more severe."

"You misunderstand, Shaw. They're looking for an android and a highly trained intelligence officer. I am not an android, and you are not a highly trained intelligence officer."

"What am I, then?" Shaw snaps. They have reached a bench. The woman sits down and peels a package off the bottom and empties it out in her hand. Two guns and two forms of ID. Shaw accepts one, completely non-plussed. It had her picture and birthday on it (how did this woman know Shaw's _correct_ birthday?!); according to this, she is an EMT worker.

"And why are we leaving the planet?" She asks, confused. Her friend smirks again.

"My name is Margo, and we're going to see our sick grandmother," she explains, checking the gun's ammunition and sticking it in her back pocket. Shaw tilts her head. Root gives her the other gun.

"We're sisters?" She asks, incredulous, accepting the gun. Root smirks.

"Foster sister," she says simply, and starts walking again. Shaw wants to blend; this glittering city in harsh daylight feels like an incredibly exposed place to be hiding. At least the heat means that her trousers are dry and her shoes are slowly not squelching anymore.

"Where is your ship parked?" She asks, looking around expectantly. Root chuckles and shakes her head.

"The Raymond sisters do not have the money for ships," she chastises. "We're taking the bus."

 

There was no line at the Off-Planet bus. No one wants to leave the planet for its neighbour, the much wilder Dhaka this early in the week. There is still a patrol, but Root prances up to them.

“Is the bus running late?” She asks, batting her eyelashes. The men shake their heads.

The bus _is_ later; four minutes late, and Shaw watches the seconds tick by as she tries to remember Cole’s blood on her hands. Then Root touches her shoulder, and they present tickets, and walk onto the airbus.

They are sitting on the bus, patiently strapped into their seats when a woman walks down the middle of the aisle. She has long brown hair, and is flashing a badge. “That’s fake,” Root breathes into Shaw’s hair. Shaw wants to bat her off, tell her to leave her alone, but right now she is intent on looking as inconspicuous as possible.

“We’re checking arms for implants,” The woman with the badge explains. “No androids are leaving this planet.” Shaw and Root offer up their arms as Root tilts her head.

“Why not?” She asks, sweetly.

“Government Emergency,” the woman snaps, scanning both their arms. “Human,” she hums, and then lets them drop. She walks away. Shaw grabs Root’s arm, as if to check. But there is a pulse there, beating through human, organic, veins.

“Very human,” Root agrees. Shaw shoots Root a glare.

“What are you?” She hisses.

“Not here,” Root breathes, and leans back. A tall man in a suit has followed them onto the bus. Somewhere, technology hums happily, and Root smiles. They have found their lead, again.

The bus’s doors close, and Shaw glances around. The bus is nearly empty.

“Where are we going?” She asks.

“To find the man who created God,” Root breathes, and Shaw realises she really does have a flair for the dramatic.

 

Dhaka is a wet planet; it’s raining when Root and Shaw arrive.

They step off the bus, and the cold wind tugs at Shaw, splashing rain into her face. Shaw lifts her coat to cover her hair, pulling it tighter around her body as the wind lashes at her again. Root, who got off before Shaw, just lets it rain down on her face. She grins up at the sky and then glances between it and Shaw. Shaw just shakes her head and walks to the cover of the bus building. She does not have the time or the energy for these theatrics.

“Where are we going?” She snaps, crossing her arms. Root does not seem to hear her, though she does here _something_ , because she chirps a reply. It’s lost in the rain though, and Shaw double checks, but Root has nothing in her ears. She is not on coms. Perhaps she really _is_ insane.

"Where are we going?" Root does not seem to here Shaw; she simply ducks into a phonebooth. Shaw has two options; remain outside in the pouring rain, or duck into the small space with her. She sighs, exasperated, and follows Root. Root grins at her, and Shaw suppresses the urge to punch her.

"Where are we _going_?" She repeats.

"A university," Root breathes. They are very close together and Shaw does not like it.

"Why?" She demands.

"Do you not want to be enlightened?" Root’s voice is light and she is still grinning. Shaw hates this teasing; it blurs the picture of this not-quite-android in front of her.

"Why are we in here?" She demands, gesturing around the phonebooth.

"I need to make a call before we go."

"From a payphone?"

"I don't like to be traceable," and with that she elbows Shaw in the hip in order to reach the phone.

 

There is a man, standing in front of a podium, addressing a class. "Numbers _matter_ ," he is saying in the quiet and commanding voice of an incredibly intelligent man. Root smiles, and seats herself at the back. Shaw glances between her and the man, and then shrugs and sits down next to Root. Shaw _does_ know that numbers matter, but she does not understand why this man matters, so she decides to watch the proceedings unfold. He takes a breath and he draws a circle on the board. Shaw tilts her head. It isn't a perfect circle, but it’s close.

"If this was a perfect circle," he begins, "the ratio of the circumference of this circle to its diameter should equal pi. Pi is an irrational number. Do you know what that means?” He pauses for dramatic effect, his eyes scanning the room. “Pi keeps on going, forever, without ever repeating. It’s an infinite number with an uncountable number of decimal points. Which means that, contained within this string of decimals, is every single other number." He pauses, and looks around the class again. The class is small, but he has gained their rapt attention. He looks at each student meaningfully. "Your birth date, combination to your locker, your social security number, it's all in there, somewhere." He gestures at the students, and then turns around again. "And if you convert these decimals into letters, you would have _every_ word that ever existed in _every_ possible combination; the first syllable you spoke as a baby, the name of your latest crush, your entire life story from beginning to end, everything we ever say or do; all of the world's infinite possibilities rest within this one simple circle." He pauses. He looks around the room, and this time, he sees Root. His face darkens, and he stands straighter. "Now what you do with that information; what it's good for, well that would be up to you," he ends, ominously. There is a shuffle of paper; his eyes snap back to his students. "Class dismissed," he mutters.

As the students begins gathering their books and leaving the classroom, the door next to Shaw opens. The man from the building, the one she had shot at, is standing next to her.

"Shaw," he breathes; his voice reminds Shaw of gravel and velvet. She raises an eyebrow.

"Protective gear?" She asks, surprised.

"I knew what I was up against," he hums in agreement. Shaw grins.

"That's more than me," she admits grimacing, glancing next to her. But Root has walked to the other end of the aisle and is skipping down to the stairs, where the man in tweed is awaiting her.

"Harold," she says happily, clasping her hands in front of her. "What a moving speech!"

"I had hoped we would not see each other again, Ms Groves," He replies stiffly. Shaw's new friend jogs down the stairs quickly to stand next to his -- person? employer? friend? -- as if to protect him from the 5"7" menace that is Root. Shaw shrugs, and follows suit.

"Really?" Root is replying to Harold as Shaw skids to a halt next to her. "She told me she warned you that I was coming."

"The Machine works in mysterious ways, Ms Groves."

"Not mysterious for me. Anyway, I thought your lecture was fundamentally flawed." The tweeded man quirks an eyebrow.

"Do you?" He asks in a tone that indicates that Root is wrong.

"Well, not _wrong_ ," Root concedes, tilting her head, "just dramatic."

"Dramatic?" The man is surprised.

"Yes, pi does all the things you say it does. But so does every other irrational number in the universe! You know your description was not limited to pi; it is a broader description that can be applied to most numbers. And you and I both know, Harold, that the universe contains more irrational numbers than rational ones. So really, you should be teaching your class to glorify the wholeness of number 1 and ignore the irrational incompleteness of 3.141592653589793238462 -"

Here Harold cut her off with a sharp, "enough, Ms Groves. You clearly missed the fundamental lesson of my lecture though."

"Well, if it was propagated by more bad mathematics, than I am sure I did."

"It was one about potential."

"Have I tainted my potential, Harold?"

"You have wasted it."

"And you?"

"I have spent mine on more meaningful tasks, Ms Groves."

"She agrees with you on that one. And so do I. Though She does not think I am wasted."

"I think lost would be a more apt description,” The man named Harold amends.

"I brought you a charge! Is that really something a “lost” person would do?"

"More like something a psychopath would do," the man with the gravel and velvet voice mutters, glaring at Root. Harold gives him a warning glance, and he straightens back into a military pose.

"We are still trying to figure out your motivation on this one," Harold concedes.

"She does the big picture, Harold. I just follow orders."

"Always the good soldier," Reese comments. "Unlike Shaw here." Shaw turns to glare at him.

"I am here because I was promised _answers_ ," she snaps. Harold's eyes drift from Root to her.

"Answers? From Ms Groves?" He seems pleasantly surprised. "Those don't happen much."

"Why don't _you_ help me then," Shaw offers. His eyes crinkle at the corner when he smiles.

"That would take an incredibly long time."

"I have time," Shaw replies, squaring her shoulders. "First off, who is this man?"

"My name is John Reese," he introduces himself, offering Shaw his hand. She doesn't accept it, choosing instead to glower at him. He retracts his hand with a shrug.

"Why were you in the building with me?"

"We got tipped off you needed help."

"I don't need help. Ever."

"Well, you might not, but your partner did."

"You guys did a _great_ job helping him," Shaw concedes sarcastically. Harold face falls, slightly.

"We tried to help you, but there were too many unknown variables involved," he says sadly.

"Unknown variables?" Shaw asks, eyebrow raised.

"Harold is talking about me," Root explained in a cheerful whisper.

"Ms Groves was only part of it. There is now also a military police officer and a team sent by Control trying to hone in on your location."

"Why?"

"We are not sure."

"Bullshit," Shaw growls. Harold nods slightly

"Let me rephrase then; we would rather not say."

"Who are you?" She demands.

"Professor Harold Finch."

"Who are you _really_?"

"I was not the person who promised you answers, Ms Shaw."

"How do you know my name?"

"I have information."

"From the same individual she keeps on talking about?"

"Ms Groves' contact is less of an individual and more of an entity." Shaw is exasperated. She turns from Harold and fixes her eyes on Reese. He is like her; a foot soldier. Perhaps he can explain, in plain English.

"What is happening?" She tries again. His lip pulls up at the side in a weak imitation of a smile.

"We help people," he says simply. Shaw does not want to know the mechanics. She just wants to understand. "We help the people in the same way you help the people."

"How so?" Harold decides to answer this question.

"Your intel? The one you got from the entity you refer to as Research?" he asks. Shaw nods slowly. "There are two defining features about it. It is never wrong, and the information comes in the form of nine numbers." Shaw neither confirms nor denies this allegation. She just stands, stock still. The man takes a card out of his pocket and hands it to Shaw. At the top are two numbers. One of them is hers.

"We got your number two days ago," he explains. "And that of your partner," he adds sadly.

"This is how we help," Reese adds. Shaw is troubled, but she has an answer. She glances next to her, where Root has been standing, uncharacteristically quiet.

"What does she do?" Shaw asks, nodding towards Root.

"I work for Research _directly_ ," she supplies. Shaw narrows her eyes.

"That is not an answer," she snaps.

"We don't want to give you a straight answer, and Ms Groves is respecting that." Harold explains. He pauses, and then shoots her a glare before adding. "For once."

"Well, _I_ don't respect that," Shaw curses. "A good man died because he wanted answers."

"Does that not deter you from the same fate?"

"I'm leaving," Shaw decides, pulling out her gun. Root looks smug, even when Shaw turns to focus the muzzle of the gun on her. "Don't even think about following me."

"Here, have my card." Harold offers it to her. At gunpoint. Shaw stares at him.

"No thanks," she says, slightly incredulous at him.

"Well, if you ever need help..."

"I don't need help," she snaps, and leaves.

 

“She doesn’t need your help,” Root agrees as Shaw stalks off.

“So why is she _here_?” Harold demands icily. Root grins.

“Because She needs your help to kill her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAROLD'S PI LECTURE WAS ADAPTED FROM THE SHOW I MEAN NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT W IT


	4. Act II, Scene 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw runs, Root follows, Martine makes an entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [whispers] im back

“Ms. Groves." Root looks up and smiles at Harold.

"Hello, Harry," she murmurs. Harold raises an eyebrow and walks over to his fridge. He’s wearing large striped pajamas, and looks unimpressed at Root’s illegal entrance. He takes out a glass of orange juice and then turns around slowly. "I don't suppose I should ask as to why you are here." Root continues to fiddle with Harold’s glass quill.

"I couldn't find her again," she says, her voice saturated with annoyance.

"Is the Machine really so thinly stretched that it can not find a single fugitive through space?" Harold asks, standing in front of the desk and looking down at Root with a raised eyebrow. Root pushes back the chair and begins pacing the length of Harold’s book shelves.

"Well, this fugitive is a master at deception," she snaps.

"And she knows you're looking for her," Harold agrees, plucking the quill from Root’s hand as she walks past him, and tucking it back into the inkwell.

"That is probably also a factor." Root picks up a small metal sphere from Harold's desk and runs it through her hands. "Initially it was easy; facial recognition. And then she went and bought herself one of those darned bounty hunter ships."

"The single pilot ones?" Harold asks politely, sipping at his glass of water. "I have always considered buying one of those." Root snorts at him.

"Well, she cut out her GPS and made sure to get lost as much as humanely possible. Facial recognition should have got her everytime she went to fuel up though, but then she started shooting the camera.” Harold raises an eyebrow.

"You followed a trail of broken cameras?" He asks, taking the small metallic hexagon out of Root’s hands too. She snorts.

"That was the idea."

"What went wrong?

"Other people started doing it."

"What?"

"An anarchist group from Antipolo got a hold of the idea. That, along with the spread of the myth of the Machine, means that people have begin to act irrationally."

"Irrationally?" Harold raises an eyebrow. "Isn't disorder the nature of humanity?"

“Well, its not Her nature." Root snaps. Harold just watches her continue to pace. After a moment of silence, he speaks again.

"Which is why you're here, I assume."

"No, I'm just back on surface because -"

"I meant in my kitchen. At night."

"Oh.” Root stops pacing and turns to look at Harold with a guilty half smile. “Well, I'm here because I needed a place to sleep that was safe." He shakes his head.

"I highly encourage calling ahead, next time, Ms Groves." Root grins.

"Thank you, Harry."

 

Shaw is itching. She looks around the bar and growls. There are people around her, chatting, and she has no answers yet. The feeling of failure is lodged in her spine and she doesn't like it. She thought at least one person in the whole galaxy had answers about The Machine. She asked after metal and shipments and information; she asked all the right men too. But nothing came to light. Nothing was explained. She just got a bunch of confusion, with people tilting their heads at her and frowning. "We know nothing," they all said in different variances of those words. She wishes she thought they were hiding something, but she could tell. None of them knew.

It was clever. This is how she would have done it, anyway. Spread the information so thin that not a single individual who has a sliver of knowledge even knows that's what their holding. Of course, it was a great plan. It didn't help her though. A shot makes Shaw look up quickly. A woman reholsters her gun and came up to the bar.

"That camera was already shot," Shaw tells the stranger matter-of-factly. Shaw wasn't even the one who shot it. It made her feel oddly pleased. The woman smirks at her.

"I know," she admits. Shaw tilts her head and narrows her eyes at the woman.

“Why waste the bullets?”

“I wanted to make you look.”

"You did it to catch my attention?" Shaw asks, surprised. The woman smirks again, waving the bartender over and ordering a whiskey, straight.

"I think we might have some things in common," she explains. Shaw raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not for hire.”

“I don’t want to hire you.”

“What do you want then?”

“Your help.” Shaw laughs.

"I don't play well with others," she snaps. The bartender puts the whiskey down on the counter. The strange woman smirks and shoves it across the counter to Shaw. Shaw catches it, and begins sipping at it silently.

"You haven't been scoring that much on your own recently." The woman points out. Shaw raises an eyebrow.

"How do you know that?"

"I have been watching you for a while, Sameen Shaw." Shaw snorts.

"You're not making me trust you by spewing information at me," She snaps. The woman smiles at her, and Shaw holds her eye contact. After a pause, she continues.

"I don't want to make you trust me, Sameen," she murmurs. Shaw doesn’t like her tone.

"What do you want?" She asks bluntly. The woman’s smile broadens.

"I want to work with you." Shaw clenches her jaw in frustration.

"Work with me why?" She snaps.

“We can find the Machine." This surprises Shaw. She resists the urge to blink in surprise, instead straightens nearly imperceptibly. The stranger notices and grins.

"You know about the Machine?" Shaw demands.

"I know about it,” the woman confirms. That’s enough for Shaw; she’s in, but the woman continues, “and I don't think it should exist." Shaw doesn’t shift, but inside her, she feels a chill.

"You don't?" She asks conversationally, nearly casually.

"No one should have that knowledge," the woman explains matter-of-factly. Shaw has met people who hated the information age. Most of them live in Antipolo. They are an intensely private tribe, who resist the spread of knowledge. Shaw tilts her head. This woman, leaning forward on the bar with a well cut blazer, blond hair tied up in a neat ponytail, looks nothing like those people.

“Then how do you have so much knowledge about me?" Shaw asks, instead. The young woman smirks and pulls out a paper file and drops it on the counter. Pictures of Shaw spill out.

"I've been watching you," she admits. Shaw narrows her eyes at the file suspiciously. "My name is Martine," the woman adds quickly, holding out a hand. "Martine Rousseau." Shaw doesn't shake it. The woman laughs quietly and lowers her hand. "I'm not asking you to trust me, Shaw," she explains quickly. "I don't think that would be useful. I just think we should work together." Shaw doesn’t look impress. She finishes the whiskey in one long gulp and eyes Martine critically.

"Doesn't that, by definition, require trust?" She points out. Martine shakes her head.

"Trust is such a strong word. I think more than anything, working together depends on a feeling of a shared goal." Shaw raises an eyebrow.

"And we have a shared goal?" She asks politely. Martine laughs.

"To find the Machine." Shaw studies her. She doesn’t like this fake anarchist, clothed in suspicions.

“How do you know about it?" Shaw demands. Martine smiles.

“A man hired me to find it." Shaw’s lips thin.

"Why do you think together we could find it? Both of us have separately failed"

“I have some ideas." Shaw sighs and looks between the woman and the broken camera. She nods towards the bar.

“We’d better get a booth,” Shaw decides. Martine grins, and gestures for Shaw to lead the way. Shaw waves at the bartender and orders some food, and then walks to the nearest empty booth. Martine follows her and slides in opposite Shaw. Shaw catches the glint of her gun as she sits down.

“So, what do you know?” She asks again. Martine smirks.

"Ill show you mine if you show me yours?" She offers with a quiet laugh.

"And how do I know you won't run off with it?" Martine asks, eyebrow quirked up. Shaw looks Martine up and down. Martine's stance is stiff; she’s former military too. She grins at Shaw’s glance, biting her lip and tilting her head. Shaw is shorter, but burlier; she would probably win in a fist fight. But it would be close. Shaw shrugs.

“Because I don’t have anything,” she admits. "All I know is that the Machine exists."

"How do you know that?"

"My partner had suspicions, and then he was killed."

"Did you meet anyone?" Shaw has been considering this question for the last minute. What are the odds that this woman knows any of the people that Shaw had met? She doesnt hesitate when Martine asks though: she smiles and nods. "Yes." Martine straightens, almost imperceptibly.

"Who?" she asks. Shaw smiles. This is becoming very informative.

"A woman who knew everything." Martine nods sagely.

"She's its analog interface," she explains. Shaw wonders how much more she knows. Instead she smirks at Martine.

"I gathered that."

"My intel has her down as a rogue cyborg." Shaw resists the urge to smirk at this woman. It’s nice to watch he. She doesn’t know as much as she thinks she knows.

"I didn't even know that," Shaw tells her, nonchalantly. "That was all the info I had." Martine nods, and smirks. She has clearly decided that Shaw is trustworthy. She pulls out a folder and hands it to Shaw.

"I know coordinates," she said victoriously. Shaw raises an eyebrow and opens the folder. Inside is a long list of number, and Shaw can tell a cypher when she sees one.

"Of the Machine?" She asks, surprise saturating her voice. Martine laughs sarcastically.

"I have no idea what for, but I highly doubt it," she sneers. Shaw closes the folder.

"What does it have then?"

"Information, I assume." Shaw tilts her head.

"What are the coordinates?" Martine pauses. Shaw crosses her arms. "I showed you mine -" She points out, slightly annoyed.

"-and I'll show you mine," Martine interrupts. Shaw waits. She sighs as the minutes tick by. Martine doesn’t react. Then, she looks up and smiles.

"I was just waiting for orders to clear you," she explains.

"Did you get them?" Shaw snaps.

"Yes." Shaw doesn’t grin at Martine; she simply continues to look annoyed and impatient. Martine gives Shaw another piece of paper. “Go here.” She instructs. “I’ll meet you there.”

 

The coordinates are on the other side of the galaxy. Shaw sighs as she double checks them, climbing into her ship. She swings herself up into the ship and thinks about how much she hates small vessels. She looked around and sighs. She is stuck with it, for now. It is large enough to allow her movement, and it has a sleeping chamber, but there is little space for exercise and absolutely no space for marksmanship exercises. Journeys with Cole used to be fun, simply because he always made sure that their ship was large enough for Shaw to prowl around it. "You look like a trapped animal otherwise," he would justify it with a shrug. Shaw had sent him a glare and muttered about how it was crucial to keep fit. Now she knows it was a small token of affection. Something that friends did. She turns on the controls to her ship.

No use crying about that now. She has a galaxy to traverse.

Shaw’s ship can only sustain light speed jumps for about three light years, before it needs about an hour to recharge. These vessels weren't designed for long distance space travel, and Shaw knows this. She puts on the autopilot again and does another set of crunches, counting quietly. This far in space, the only thing to hear other than the low murmur of her engine is the odd creaking of the ship. She only sees the bright stars, and sometimes larger, more intimidating ships sailing above, eerily silent.

Because of this, a space traveller can always immediately hear the small click in her engine.

Its a malfunction a lot of DS09 models have. Its common, especially with too much light speed strain. Shaw hears it three days into her journey, and isn't really phased by it. It is an easily fixable mistake, and there is a repair station on Aurangabad only seven hours away.

Aurangabad is a small planet; the nearest repair station hands suspended in the sky. Spread like a flower, each petal like structure is a landing platform that connects to the central “stem” of the docking station. Shaw likes Aurangabad; she and Cole stayed there for several months once to investigate a smuggling ring. The docking station is famous for its dozens of different curry spaces, and Shaw feels her stomach rumble as she lands. She’s had nothing but dry protein mush and biscuits for three days. The idea of hot food makes her grin.  

Shaw docks in, and writes out her repair request.

"Representative Augusta King," the computer replied, "will be sent to your ship and repair this damage immediately."

"How long will this take?" Shaw asks the machine, itching to get out of her cockpit.

"Roughly an hour," the computer replies. Shaw makes a face. Not even enough time to make it worth it to leave she docking station. She shrugs. Any amount of time makes an expedition into Aurangabad worth it, though.

"Ill be back in 30 mins," Shaw calls to the disembodied legs sticking out from under her ship. There was a call of acknowledgement. Shaw goes to inspect the food.

She returns loaded up with saag paneer, naan bread and chicken tikka masala that will last her until the next drop.

The computer pings.

"Ready to go," it hums. Shaw sighs.

"Thank you. My payments have been transferred.."

"Roger that." There was a crackle.

"Am I cleared for take off?" Shaw asks the tower. A different voice from the communications tower came in through the radio. "Cleared for take off, DS09 X-5639. Over," It announces. Shaw closed her hatch and started her engine, smiling as it started humming in the familiar tenor again.

"Roger that," she murmurs. The petal-landing pad bounces, and Shaw is thrust into the skies, zooming out of the atmosphere to her next stop.

An hour or so later, there is a creak; before Shaw can turn around there is movement in the shadows. An eerily familiar woman emerges, gun pointed at Shaw's head.

“Hey Shaw," she purrs, "did you miss me?" Shaw's jew clenches and she looks up. Root's is towering above her, familiar smirk and tilted head looking more infuriating that usual. Shaw can't think of anybody she has missed less.

"Hello Root," Shaw mutters. "You finally found me."

"And I have some questions," Root agrees. She spins Shaw's chair around so they're staring at each other. "What are you trying to do?" Root demands. Shaw smirks.

"Protecting the program," she says with a shrug. Root scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"Really?" She asks, incredulous. "The program that tried to _kill_ you?"

"We all make mistakes."

"They killed your best friend!" Shaw shrugs.

"And you hijacked my ship. And then stowed away on it. So that's two strikes."

"I'm also commandeering it," Root agrees. Shaw sighs.

"That's a hypothetical third strike then. Shall I float you?" Her eyebrow is raised, and she is staring at Root. Root maintains her eye contact until her gaze snaps to the computer on Shaw's dashboard. A second later it begins blinking red. Shaw spins around to stare at it. Root's mouth is slightly agape and she quickly sits down in the copilot seat. Shaw is too preoccupied with the computer to notice. Before she can get the error message to explain itself though, Root already interprets it for her.

"There was a supernova," she snaps.

"A what?" Shaw demands.

"A type II supernova. About nine light years away, and we're getting massive, and I mean MASSIVE, energy waves heading our way."

"A type II?" Shaw stares at Root, aghast. "When was the last time that happened?!"

"Nineteen years ago, now turn off your -" before Root can finish that command, the ship starts shaking. She adds the last word, a hisssed "engines," under her breath as her hands clench around the arm rests. Shaw slams off the engine, but its too late. There is the sound of an explosion, and then suddenly the ship starts spinning out of control. The lights flicker, and there is a terrifying second in which Shaw fears for their air filtration system, but then the electricity switches to emergency backup mode. Before Shaw can even breathe out in relief, the shakes affecting the plane began increasing. Root flinches as the sound in her ear turns into a high pitched squeal. She opens her eyes; there are still words though. Her body is slammed against the side of the cockpit as the ship flips, and then flips again, spiraling through space. "STEER TOWARDS THE NEAREST BODY OF EARTH," Root gasps. Shaw nods mutely.

"This is creating a pulsar wind nebula," Shaw whispers. 

The nearest Planet with an Alliance base was 2 light years away. Shaw mutely pointed at it on the map, but Root shakes her head, indicating that they won't make it. As if on cue, another wave smashes into the ship, and Shaw gulps as she barely avoid an asteroid, yanking up the steering and slamming Root against the roof of the cabin. She realises there is an astroid belt ahead if she continues in the easterly direction she was heading, and makes to swerve left. Root catches her arm.

"Stay on course," she gasps, blood dripping out of her nose. Shaw narrows her eyes, watching the blood trickle down Root's shirt.

"Is the Machine telling you this?" she demands. Root shakes her head.

"She can't talk because of this energy disruption."

"So you want me to trust you?" Shaw demands.

"I want you to aim for the center of that asteroid belt."

"There is nothing there, Root."

"The gravitational field is strong enough that it could be a matter planet."

"Or a gas planet."

"No, they don't have enough gravitational pull for a asteroid belt that is this -" another wave; Root has finally but on her seat belt, and she is just thrown to the edge of her seat before it pulls her back with a snap "-thick," Root finishes with a gasp. 

"I don't trust you," Shaw snaps. Root gasps and leans back, rubbing her clavicle where the seat belt left a bright red mark.

"If you don't trust me, we're both gonna die," she mutters. Shaw looks at her, watching her for a second. Root meets her eyes, dark and sincere. Shaw rolls her eyes and makes a course for where Root pointed.

"You'd better be right," she hisses as she begins navigating the field, dodging large rocks. Another wave hits, unexpected; they slam into a large meteor. The computer informs Shaw that she just damaged her cooling vent; she wants to curse, but before she can they are slammed into another rock. A tear into the hull. Again; the fuel is lost. They are almost at the center of the asteroid cloud now, but Shaw still can't see anything.  

"There must be a center of gravity somewhere!" Root cries. Shaw yanked the ship left, and then right again, and then suddenly they are falling.

"Better hope there fucking is," she snaps, "Otherwise we're falling into a black hole."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh ugh ugh i felt like this chapter felt more of a patchwork?? but i rly needed to get it out there, bc ive been staring at it for the better part of a week and some how it wasnt MUTATING into something better?? weird


	5. Act II, Scene II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw wakes up on strange planet. Root sasses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the physical descriptions of the alien planet are inspired by Jeff Vandermeer’s novel _Annihalation_ ; I highly recommend it!!!   
> Also, i edited this all on the plane, where my online spellchecker doesn't work, so any typos r ALL MY FAULT

Shaw gasps; she sits up in one quick movement and slamming her head against the windshield, knocking her right back down again. She blinks several times as she begins seeing bright white lights in front of her eyes. She breathes out again, and assesses her surroundings more carefully. She is in her cabin, sandwhiched between her chair and her dashboard, both of which no long seem to be in the same position they started in. Her windscreen is cracked, and there is greenish light filtering in through the window. She moves her arms, and then her legs. Her right leg is wedged between the dashboard and the seat, but when Shaw wiggles her toes she realises she can still move. Shaw takes a deep breath, and lifts her head. She looks around slowly.

Shaw is in her own ship. She is alive. The ship on the other hand, is not fearing as well. As Shaw slowly sits up, taking care to duck at the approrpiate moment, and yank her leg out of its trapped position, she realises the dashboard is hot to the touch. She hisses, and tries the control. The controls on the dashboard and the computer are unresponsive, and even hotter to the touch. Shaw curls herself up in her chair and breathes out steadily, looking around. Shaw can’t see anyting from her position in her seat.  

She is alive. Shaw closes her eyes again and chuckles quietly. She unbuckles herself from the seat, and slithers so she's lying on the metal roof of the ship, which is now totally upside down. She can wiggle her toes and fingers, and feel all her extermities. There is bruising in each place tht the seat belt was anchored (either side of her hips and her shoulders) but other than that, she is not harmed. She opens and closes her fingers again, almost triumphantly. She crash landed on this uncategorized planet, and she _surivived_.

An uncategorized plant: Shaw suddenly stiffens, and she looks around the cabin wildly. The roof of the ship is still warm, and the cabin is definitely compressed; there are cracks in the windshield and the the computer is showing an error code. The planet has an atmosphere; her ship is a testament to that. That atmosphere must contain an oxygen rich air, because Shaw can see the tendrils of fresh air weave into the smoky cabin, and she is not dead.

Shaw twists around. Root isn't here. Neither is Root's body. She sighs, and glances at the door. It is badly dented, but someone managed to get out by wedging it open very slightly. Sunlight is streaming through, illuminating each small particle in the smoke. Shaw looks at the tiny gap and rolls her eyes. The gap is too small for her hips, and it takes her almost five minutes of tugging from her small enclosed space to buy her enough room to squeeze through.

Shaw tumbles out of the ship gracelessly; she bounces up and is relived to see she is alone. She looks around again; she seems to be in a large woodland. Everything around her is massive; she is dwarfed by the trees and bushes and flowers around her. The trees seem to stretch for hundreds of meters, their thick green canopy shielding Shaw from the harsh sunlight. Woven around the steams, still several dozen meters over the ground, there spans a network of vines, connecting all the trees together in a rich green tapestry. Closer to the earth, there is a thick blanket of

"Finally," a voice chirps before Root lands next to Shaw. It takes every ounce of self control that Shaw posesses not to jump away. Root is standing directly opposite Shaw, eyes bright and grin already present. "I mean,  I know you were scared," she continues happily, "but I feel like you should have slept less."

"I got knocked out on impact."

"You got knocked out _before_  impact, actually. You missed the snapping." Root is smiling at Shaw again. Shaw just rolls her eyes at her, though she does note that Root has small bruises around her neck, mirroring Shaw's, where the seatbelt cut in. She narrows her eyes at them for a fraction of a second. Shaw has never interacted with cyborgs much; she doesn’t really like the fact that they bleed and sweat and get injured. It feels dishonest. She looks away. Anyway, cyborgs can't heal their skin. It will be a permanent mark now. The bruises will be an interesting new way to identify Root. But still, Shaw doesn't think its an apt enough punishment for the amount of pain this creature will put Shaw through. Root doen’t seem to mind Shaw’s scrupulous inspection, and just grins happily.

"What were you doing?" Shaw asks harshly, gesturing up to the trees. Root shrugs.

"Exploring." Shaw frowns.

"Find anything?" She demands. Root smirks again.

"Nothing that can relay wifi."

"What does that mean?" Shaw snaps.

"It means that I am deaf." Shaw blinks in surprise. “Not to you,” Root adds quickly. “I am deaf to my surroundings. I have no idea what’s happening.” Shaw narrows her eyes.

"Is there anything we can do about that?"

"Your ship is unrepairable. I mean, there wasn't much to repair in the first place. Why on earth did you decide to steal that pece of junk?" Shaw bristle at the insult to her ship.

"I bought it," she explains coldly.

"That still doesn't explain the terrible model," Root continues, circling it with critical eyes. Shaw watches her.

"Thanks to someone I am out of a job," she points out. Root laughs.

"Well, that same someone is also the only reason you are not dead -"

"And is also the reason I am here," Shaw adds angrily.

"Here?" Root looks around the planet and scoffs. "It's not my fault we're here!"

"If you had fixed my engine better -"

"- what? There wouldn't have been a supernova?" Root asks, raising an eyebrow flippantly.

"We could have -"

"Outrun it?" Root asks, mockingly. Shaw narrows her eyes at her.

"There was twice as much weight on my ship as there should be," Shaw snaps, changing tactics.

"So the supernova would have caught up with you 4.5 seconds later. That doesn't mean anything." Shaw closes her eyes and sighs loudly. There is no point to this argument. She looks up at Root again and sighs.

"What's the state of the comupter?" She asks slowly.

"It's pretty badly fried, but I'm sure I can make it work." Root pauses as Shaw nodds. "In about a week," she adds. Shaw's eyes snap upwards again.

"A week?" She demands. Root tilts her head and smiles.

"This isn't a hostile plant," she explains clamly. Shaw raises an eyebrow.

"How do you know that?" She demands. Root shrugs and gestures around.

"I hasn't tried to kill us yet." Shaw laugs aloud.

"We've been here, what, an hour?"

"Three," Root corrects absently, and Shaw tries to hide the unsettling effect on her. The light works differently here; its still bright. She thought it was still in the morning, but Root's new time estimation means its late in the afternoon Universal Time. Shaw shivers and looks over at the sky.

"What are we going to do tonight?" Shaw asks aloud. She doesn't expect an answer. In her head she's inventoring what food supplies she has in her ship (scarce). Root points to her left; Shaw realises that she is pointing at a pile of wood.

"We make a fire," Root suggests. "We have no idea about the temperatures of this place." Shaw nodds slowly. She wonders whether all cybords are as attentive to human instincts as this one.

"Do you have a database for edible foods?"

"Not locally," Root replies. Shaw sighs. Predictable. She looks around them.

"Start working on the computer," she decides. "I'll make us camp for the evening. I don't know how much daylight we have left."

"Don't leave camp," Root decides. Shaw glances at her, surprised.

"Why not?" She asks. Root gestures at the vegetation around them.

"Everything is big," she explains. "So,one would assume that all predators are large too."

"I thought you said this planet wasn't hostile?"

"The planet isn't," Root agrees, "but I didn't say anything about its inhabitants." She smirks, and then turns to the computer, and Shaw resists the powerful urge to shoot Root, Shaw walks away, clenching her jaw, daydreaming of how to get rid of this annoying cyborg. She comes to the base of the large tree, and sees where Root carved foot holds into the side of the tree to help her clamber up to the first branch. She looks up. From the bottom of the trunk the tree looks even bigger. She tries to follow the trajectory of the branches, but they intermingle. Shaw glances behind her, and is relieved to see that Root has started to busy herself with the computer, carefully starting to open the remaining panels of the spaceship and inspect all the wiring.

Shaw begins to climb up the tree; Root's marks help her get up the trunk with little trouble, and once she has reached the first line of branches, she leaps from one massive branch to another. She doesn't look down; she's incredibly high, and that is all she needs to know. Slowly, the vegetation gets more dense around her, and sunlight becomes more green as she can barely see through the collection of branches. Shaw pushes onwards, wincing every time a branch around her cracks. She struggles further upwards though, carefully tesing each branch as they become thinner than her arm, stepping as close to the steam as possible. When she's about 10m from the top of the tree, she stops climbing; the branches are too thin now to climb up on, which has given her a brilliant vantage point of the planet.

The planet is full of this greenery. As far as Shaw's eye can see, there are trees. Shaw realises that they seem to be right in the center of a large valley; all around them there are mountains. To Shaw's left, (she thinks its West?) there is a steep cliff face of bright red stone. She is suddenly grateful that the trees cushioned their fall as much as they did. That cliff face does not look like a pleasant place to crash.

A gust of win runs through the trees, shaking them slowly; a flock of birds flies up, squawking. They are bright vermillion, and dark purple, and maroon, and from afar they look brilliant. The birds circle closer to Shaw, and suddenly she realises they, like everything else, are huge. They are also scaly, and as their flock comes closer, their cries seem far less musical and far more threatening. Shaw shrinks against the branches and hopes her black clothing hides her well.

It does; the birds pass without taking any note of her.

Once the danger has passed, Shaw slowly edges around the steam and looks in the opposite direction. Shaw does a double take. In this direction. (she thinks its South), the valley seems to lead to the sea. But far in the distance, perhaps 100 km, or more, since size seems to be deceiving in this place, Shaw sees a lighthouse. It's as large as a tree, from what she can tell, though its far out on a rocky peninsula, so perhaps it just looks large in comparison. Shaw has never seen a lighthouse before in her life, but she recognizes it from the stories. Its red and white, and at the edge of an ocean. Shaw wonders whether this means her computer was malfunctioning; perhaps there really is life on this island?

Shaw looks straight down, and sees the bright reflection of her space ship. Other than a small hole in the topmost layer of trees, nothing has given away their presence yet. Shaw leans over, and catches site of Root, carefully taking everything apart. She nods authoritatively. This is all they can do. Try and figure out whether they can fix the computer. Get in contact with Command. Get a rescue team. Shaw glances back at the lighthouse, and looks away.

Finding other people isn't her priority. Her priority is survival. She's just not sure how to do that with Root.

As Shaw starts climbing down the tree again, the sun begins to rise. Shaw looks up in dismay. She has done nothing for camp yet. She clambers down faster, but the sun sets within five minutes, leaving Shaw stuck in the tree in almost complete darkness, forced to feel her way downwards with immense care.

By the time Shaw reaches half way down the tree, its pitch dark and she can see the warm glow of light from the fire Root must have set up through the trees. She clenches her jaw, and continues to inch down, putting one foot down, waiting to find a foothold, before the next one follows. Shaw overestimates the proximity of a branch, an trips; with a clatter she loses her balance and falls out of the tree, slamming into the ground. She knows her landing was relatively soft from a relatively small height. The ground is soft and mossy, but the impact still winds her, and she shudders. Root ambles towards her and tilts her head.

"It gets dark fast here," she notes, offering Shaw a hand. Shaw pushes herself up, closing her eyes against the resulting dizziness.

"Could have warned me," she snaps. Root shrugs.

"Didn't know," she replies frankly. Shaw gets up slowly and tests her body for any broken bones. She puts some weight on her leg, and tenses up in pain. She's hurt her ankle. She closes her eyes and tries to compartmentalize the pain, but its sprained. she's going to have to be careful with it.

"If you're trying to hide your weakness," Root's cheerfully sweet voice cuts through her meditation, "then you're doing it with the wrong person. I can tell your ankle is hurt." Shaw wishes she didn't know.

"How far did you get with the ship?" she asks instead. Root shrugs and gestures at the pile of mechanics.

"I divided the mainframe into functioning equipment, things i think i can fix, and fried things. Then i've been dividing them even further, but the fie doesn't generate enough light for me to work anymore. We're gonna hope that it doesn't rain tonight. We don't have shelter, for either us or the electronics. I'll figure out exactly what I can make until then. Until then, we should sleep." Shaw nods.

She has no plans of sleeping. She has one gun, and she doesn't trust Root with it. She's on a strange planet, with strange hints of human life, and she's not going to sleep and allow herself to be vulnerable like that. Root seems to be able to see this decision on her face, because she just shrugs.

"I'll sleep then," she corrects. Shaw settles down on the grass and leans against the edge of her ship. It's still warm from the sun. She smiles indulgently and leans back, trying to make a plan. She's never been in this situation before, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't be prepared. Root has pulled out one of the two spare blankets from the ship and has curled up next to the electrics, falling asleep with almost alarming speed. Shaw watches her, and wonders if she too saw the lighthouse.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY IM SUPER SORRY ABOUT THE KINDA SLOW START AND THE INTENSE WORLD BUILDING. chapter 2 will be up on friday with MORE PLOT and less WORLD BUILDING. but also, Root's little game HAS to be that complicated bc its ROOT, u know????? anyway, u get extra points if u get where the robots running on alcohol thing comes from.  
> edit: totally forgot to mention i will be trying to update this fic on FRIDAYS but i uploaded this today bc HC made me a new sidebar and its AMAZING and this is my thank you (u should ALL check out my sidebar its THAT PERFECT)


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